


Pressed Between the Pages of Fate

by FeralScribe



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Best Friends, Don’t copy to another site, Fletching and Moondrop Traveling Carnival of Curiosities, Flowers, Gift Giving, Molly and Yasha Carnival Days, Platonic Soulmates, Pre-Mighty Nein, The Origin of Yasha's Flower-Pressing Book, based on canon answer by Ashley Johnson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-06
Updated: 2019-08-06
Packaged: 2020-08-10 16:36:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20138581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FeralScribe/pseuds/FeralScribe
Summary: Molly buys Yasha a gift and eventually finds a better use for it.





	Pressed Between the Pages of Fate

**Author's Note:**

> Written as a birthday gift for the lovely and talented [Milli](https://twitter.com/_milliiii)!

“Carnival!” Molly cries, waving a small stack of paper at some of the passersby. “Carnival in town! Fletching and Moondrop Traveling Carnival of Curiosities!” Many people glance up at him then hastily look away and walk faster. It doesn’t perturb Molly at all. Even if they don’t take a flyer they definitely know the carnival is in town. Some of them will tell themselves they don’t want to go, but there will be that itch in the back of their mind, the wonder and the _need _to know what that strange tiefling was barking about. He shouts the location of their tent at the ones he senses he’ll see later, casting flirtatious smiles at several of them and receiving a couple in return.

Molly bounces along, flyers in one hand and his other arm braced casually across the back of Yasha’s shoulders while surreptitiously gripping her leather armor tight. Yasha has him grasped firmly by the legs as he rides on her back. The only thing that could pass for a tavern or inn in this town is a tiny watering hole of a bar that only had a handful of patrons who shooed Molly and Yasha out when they came to advertise. That was fine. It would have been nice if they’d let Molly buy a drink before he left, but there were a pair of grumpy men who were particularly adamant about not sharing anything with these strange outsiders. They weren’t the sort Gustav and Desmond wanted at the carnival anyway, so it was best to find another way to let people know what was going on. Molly liked a challenge, and he liked putting on a show, and above all else he liked having fun with Yasha. The obvious solution for how to spread the word was to combine all three of those.

They wander up and down the streets of this small farming town. Molly, as usual, could not point to it on a map if asked, but that’s not important. They didn’t stop here last year, so it’s somewhere new. And what better way to explore a new place than to do so riding dragon-back on your best friend? There isn’t much to this place so far, but it has its fascinating little details. The carpenter’s sign is carved to look like a saw. Green scarves and bandannas seem to be in fashion. Nearly every house has a window box of flowers that Molly knows Yasha is eyeing as they walk by.

Then Molly spots his favorite kind of shop: a secondhand shop. They’re fairly common in places off the main trade routes, and there’s almost always a good treasure buried within the piles of clothes that just need a bit of care and the bits and bobs that people no longer needed but someone else might someday. Molly pats Yasha on the head and points. She snorts a low whinny to imitate the horses that pull their wagons and carries him over to the shop.

It’s a bit stuffy inside. There are a few windows but none of them is open at the moment. There’s a half-elf woman sitting at the counter scribbling something in a book, perhaps a ledger or a journal. She closes the book and stands to greet them as they enter. “Welcome,” she says, tucking a bit of the ashen-blonde hair that fell out of her bun back behind her ear. “What can I help you find today?”

Molly looks to Yasha. He’s just here to browse, but perhaps she needs something. She shrugs. “Oh, we are… We are new in town and thought we would see what there was. Um…” Yasha whispers to Molly, “Are you going to tell her about the carnival or should I?”

“You should,” Molly whispers back. “Keep practicing your people skills.”

Yasha nods. “There is a carnival,” she tells the half-elf. “We work for it. You should come. It’s on the east side of town. Big tent. You um… If you go, you will know when you see it.” She checks in with Molly, who gives her a wink and a subtle thumbs-up. “Yeah. Um, we have a flyer if you want a flyer. It starts just after sundown.” After a few seconds Yasha blurts, “Five copper! It’s just five copper to come. And that’s a good price. It’s… It’s worth more than that, but all we ask for is five copper.”

Molly has known Yasha for over five months, and her social graces have definitely improved since she stumbled into their camp with nothing but her clothes and a hunting knife to ask for food. Molly was the only one who didn’t balk at her; he had been in her situation before, after all, but he had no words to beg with at the time. He’s proud of her for her progress, and he does love her more than anyone in his carnival family, but good gods is she awkward when talking to strangers. That’s part of her charm though.

The half-elf smiles politely, but there’s unease in her eyes. “That sounds…interesting. I might um, stop by. Erm, but if you need any help, feel free to ask.”

“Thank you,” Molly says, recognizing that by now the shopkeeper just wants them to make a purchase and leave. He pats Yasha on the shoulder. “Come on, dear. I’ll buy you something nice.”

Like most people, the half-elf had darted her eyes away from Yasha on occasion to stare briefly at Molly the whole time she was talking. Now she fully turns her attention to him. “Is this your wife?” she asks. Molly can practically see her mind thumbing through her inventory trying to think of a suggestion she can make for a husband such as him to get for a wife such as Yasha.

Yasha looks at Molly. “Oh no, he’s not my—” She pauses and frowns to herself as she realizes what she was about to say. “Wait…”

Molly bursts out laughing. Draping his wrist against his forehead dramatically, he says, “Would that I were her wife, for I do love her so, but alas, she is spoken for.” Yasha can’t even remember how long it has been since she saw her wife, but it pains her nonetheless. Molly suggested Yasha find someone else when she first told him, having never been in love himself and therefore not knowing that that sort of thing isn’t easy to “just get over”. The more Yasha had opened up to him about Zuala though, the more she talked about this person Molly had never met yet felt a kinship with because they both cared so much for Yasha, the more Molly understood her feelings and why she didn’t want to give her heart to anyone else.

The half-elf allows them to wander the shop in search of whatever they might want to buy. Everything is neatly categorized and organized. Half of the store is dedicated to clothes, but there are tables with children’s toys and gardening equipment and assorted accessories. Yasha stops to peruse a shelf of books. She likes to read from time to time, particularly on rainy journeys when nearly all of them pile into the wagons to stay dry. Sometimes she’ll read while walking and Molly will keep his tail around her waist to keep her from bumping into things.

“Anything good?” Molly asks.

Yasha picks one book out and flips through it. “I don’t know. I like to sit down and read a page or two to see if I want to read the rest, but I don’t think the woman at the counter likes us very much. And sometimes in book stores they get upset with you for reading the books before you buy them.”

Molly snorts a soft “Hmmph!” He crosses his arms and says, “It’s not like the book goes down in value when you read it. I can understand getting cross if you’re a grocer or a baker and someone takes a bite out of something then doesn’t buy it, but a book? Do they think you’re going to sit there all day to read the whole thing without paying for it?”

“I don’t know.” Yasha shrugs. She puts the book back where it was carefully.

Raising his voice just enough to be heard, Molly calls out to the shopkeeper, “Oi, do you mind if my friend reads a few pages from some of the books so she can decide which one to buy?”

The half-elf stares at him for a moment. “Erm, yes, yes that’s fine, so long as she doesn’t damage any of them.”

“No worries,” Molly replies. “She’s surprisingly gentle.” He smiles to Yasha, whose pale cheeks are a shade darker now. “There you have it,” he tells her.

“Thank you, Molly,” she says quietly. She takes the book she was looking at off the shelf again and turns it to a random page. Molly peeks over her shoulder. By the time he has gotten through a paragraph and a half, she’s turning to the next page. Two years out of the ground and words still trouble him. At least he can talk well enough; understanding written words, however, is something he never mastered, mostly because he never had a reason to and still doesn’t. Yasha likes books, and that’s good enough for him.

While Yasha samples some books, Molly turns his head sideways to read some of the titles. Many of them don’t have anything written on the spines, but from what Molly can tell most of them are fiction with a few history books or biographies mixed in. He pulls one of the books with no visible title off the shelf out of curiosity. The title is on the first page, _Madame Kryon’s Guide to Manners and Etiquette._ Molly flips through it. Whoever owned it previously made notes in the margins, particularly on pages dealing with social gatherings.

“Hey Yasha,” Molly says. “I think I’ve found a good book for you.”

“Oh?” Yasha closes the book she was reading and takes the etiquette book from Molly. She raises one eyebrow just the slightest bit, but Molly knows her well enough to understand that that means she’s quite interested. He watches her turn to the front of the book then go to a specific page, which she reads intently, his tail twitching in anticipation of her reaction. “Oh,” she says after a moment. “There’s a lot you’re supposed to do. I…I did not think being polite was so…_complicated_.”

Molly is confused. Being polite isn’t complicated; you just have to avoid being an absolute dick to the other person. “Let me see that.” Yasha hands it back to him so he can read the page she was on. From what he can tell, it’s explaining the proper wording of gratitude after receiving gifts. He smiles to himself. However, he can see why Yasha was put off. This section is eight pages long and it fusses over such minutia that Molly starts to wonder if this is actually a work of satire.

“But um…” Yasha fiddles with one of her braids. “I greatly appreciate your…uh, the consideration that went into this gift and… and…” She cranes her neck to check the book. “And I am honored that you were thinking of me with generosity.”

Molly laughs. He thumbs through the pages. “Is there a section in here on how to properly accept gratitude? Or should I just say ‘you’re welcome’?”

Yasha thinks for a moment. “Yeah, ‘you’re welcome’ works. I don’t think I’d be very good at etiquette.”

“Well you never know until you try.” Molly takes the book up to the half-elf at the counter. “How much?” he asks.

The half-elf eyes the book. “Three silver.”

“Done.” Molly fishes around in his pocket and gathers up the equivalent of three silver in the form of one silver piece and a fistful of copper. He has never bought a book before and isn’t sure how much they’re actually worth, but he didn’t have plans for that money beyond buying stuff anyway. There’s plenty left in his purse for food and drinks and they’ll earn it back with their performance later. Besides, it’s for Yasha. Molly would gladly spend every last coin in his possession to see her smile.

And smile she does. “Thank you, Molly,” she says. She holds the book like some relic she has been entrusted with by a wise wandering priest. Molly is far from that, except for the wandering part. Yasha looks at him and smiles wider, which is barely as wide as most people smile when they find something mildly amusing, but coming from Yasha it’s as though she’s beaming ear to ear.

Molly pats her on the back. “Come on, we’ve got more people to shout at.” Giving her a quick kiss on the cheek he adds, “But I’m glad you like it.” He hops up onto her back and the two of them resume their business in the streets.

* * *

A couple weeks later they’re wheeling and winding their way through the hills on the road to yet another town. Yasha has read a little of her etiquette book every day. Molly helps her practice the things she’s learning. Even then, she remarks several times about how absurd some of the instructions are.

“Why does it matter where you put your spoon while you’re eating? And why do you need more than one?”

“I wouldn’t be offended if someone forgot to take off their hat when I entered the room. And why does it only matter if men take off their hats? Women wear hats too.”

“What’s wrong with having ‘animated discussions’ in public? What does that even _mean?_”

Molly’s only answer to these questions was, “I have no bloody idea.” He had spent his whole life on the road. The closest he had come to acting proper was the time the carnival passed him off as reincarnated royalty, and even then they’d told him the best way to act regal was to nod solemnly at everything and make the people around him feel like they should be honored to receive even that. He had hoped this book would have tips to help Yasha feel more comfortable talking to people, but sadly it didn’t seem that that was the case.

They’re walking alongside the wagon, Yasha reading the etiquette book with a subtle frown while Molly has his tail on her back to guide her, when they reach the crest of a hill and the land sweeps down into a gorgeous shallow valley. Molly taps Yasha with his tail.

“Yasha, look.”

Yasha lowers her book. Her breath catches in a soft gasp. Spread out before them for about half a mile is a meadow of green and white and pink. Here and there patches of wildflowers add more color, but otherwise the field is covered in clover. Molly has passed through places like this before, and though the initial novelty of such simple yet stunning beauty wore off after a year or so, Yasha’s wonder and awe never ceases and Molly gets a secondhand thrill from watching her delighted reactions. She told Molly there were no meadows of green grass and bright flowers where she grew up, nothing but wasteland and harsh scrub and gnarled trees. To her, every place like this is a miracle.

The air is sweet as they pass through the meadow. It’s later in the season, so there aren’t as many clover flowers as there might have been a month or two ago, but Yasha marvels at them all the same. She stops a few times to crouch and examine some of the ones that are white but fade to a crown of pink, or to watch the bees as they hover from flower to flower in search of nectar.

“Y’know,” Bo says, “they say that if you find a clover with four leaves, you’ll have good luck so long as you have it with you.”

“Oh?” Yasha asks. “Why is that?”

Bo shrugs. “Guess the four-leafed clovers are rare, so you gotta be lucky in the first place to find one.”

Yasha scans the closest portions of the field. The clover is so dense it’s hard to tell how many leaves any of them have at first glance. Molly gets the feeling that a four-leafed clover would make Yasha very happy. He trots ahead so he can carefully comb through them. Yasha joins him on the opposite side of the road.

Molly is the one to find it. He lets out a triumphant whoop and beckons Yasha over. “It’s right there,” he says, pointing. “See? Next to the clover that’s kind of wilting.”

“Are you going to pick it?” Yasha asks.

“I was thinking you should.” Molly grins. “After all, I know _I’m_ lucky. I already found the best friend I could ever hope for. That’s better than a clover any day. But if you want it so you can…well, y’know, take it to her…”

Yasha’s lower lip quivers. “Molly…” She throws her arms around him in a hug. Molly smiles and holds her tight. The twins titter to themselves as they pass. It doesn’t matter what they think. It doesn’t matter what anyone thinks. Molly loves Yasha, though not in the way some of their carnival family thinks he does. It’s love nonetheless, and the only thing about it that matters is that Yasha loves him too.

Bo congratulates them on finding the four-leafed clover. “That was fast,” he says.

Molly puts his tail around Yasha. “What can I say? We’re a lucky pair.”

Yasha holds up the small stem with its lucky leaves. “I’m afraid it’s going to wither if I try to dry it like the others,” she says with a crease of worry in her brow.

“You could press it,” Desmond says from his seat on the wagon. “If you lay it flat between the pages of a book and keep it shut tight it will help preserve it.”

“Really?” Yasha pulls out the etiquette book. She flips it to the section on properly thanking someone and carefully arranges the clover so its leaves are spread out. Then she closes the book and holds it shut with a grip so strong that the covers creak. “How long does it have to stay in there?”

“Depends,” Desmond says. “You can do the same with smaller flowers, and those can take months to properly dry. For something that simple? A week or two, perhaps.”

Yasha puts the book back in her pack, tucked in such a way that the other contents of the bag will keep it closed. She gives Molly another hug. “Thank you.”

“Any time,” Molly says. He glances out over the meadow. “Should I try to find another?”

“No, this should be good for now.” Yasha smiles, and all the world is as it should be. “I think the book is more useful this way, too.”

Molly laughs. “I think you’re right about that.” To Desmond, he says, “How much longer do you think we’ll be on the road?”

“Not long,” Desmond replies. “Trostenwald should be only a couple more days south.”

Trostenwald. Right. That’s what the town they’re going to is called. Molly vaguely remembers coming this way last year. He seems to recall the people there being mildly unfriendly, but maybe things have changed. They have for him; he didn’t know Yasha a year ago. Maybe there will be new people in Trostenwald, people he didn’t meet last time. Anything could happen. That’s the fun of living. And living is made all the more special now that he has someone to share that fun with. He tightens his tail around Yasha’s waist, even though she’s not reading her book. He likes the contact. As much as he does to brighten her life, she has brightened his simply by being his friend, and he’s glad they get to share their joys and travels together.


End file.
